Trust Who
by Azul Archer
Summary: A new drug has been floating around the Big Apple. It's said to cause delusions and violent behavior. This drug has caused 12 murders, and Alfred has to figure out who's supplying the drug before the next shipment comes. The problem? He doesn't know when it's coming.


**This might be a oneshot, I'm not really thinking of making this into a story. Sorry, lovelies. P. S. Apologies if I had our lovable American too harsh.**

**I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

The scent of cleaning products hung in the air, overriding Alfred's nose as he stared at the freshly wiped, thick glass that separated him from a young woman. Her ever-present smirk widened when he wrinkled his nose, the smell finally getting to him.

"Can't handle the measly smell of Windex, can you?" Her British accent cut through the thick silence that dropped upon them, her eyes glimmering with interest.

He didn't respond, but his hatred grew for the woman, past the point where he even thought it was healthy. If he knew how difficult this interrogation would be, he would have just told his supervisor to cram it. But he needed the extra money, his landlord wouldn't get off his ass about the overdue rent. He'd just have to suppress his rapidly growing anger (easier said than done).

Cleaning his glasses free of the smudges before pushing them back onto his face, Alfred asked the only question -the only reason- that brought him here. "Who supplied you with the PuremGel?" His tone was harsh, just the way he liked it.

The woman's face still held that same godforsaken smirk, but her eyes held something the young detective couldn't identify. Fear?

"Americans, so quick to get what they want. So sorry, but I can't offer that kind of... _delectable_ information." She slowly said 'delectable', as if the very word could throw her deeper in the prison she was already held in. "Try another willing-to-talk-to-the-cops criminal." She leaned back in her wooden chair, her current expression screaming _No matter what you do, I'm not saying a word_.

For a split-second, Alfred thought of sending her off to the Back Door, make her their problem, but his rational side quickly thought against it. The Back Door was practically a mafia, only bigger and more discreet. Nearly no one knew about them, the ones who did were apart of the group or sleeping six feet under (that was a best case scenario). Alfred -of course- was one of the few exceptions, but only barely since one of the higher-ups in the group owed him several favors. Major ones at that.

"By the way," the woman continued, arching a perfect eyebrow slightly. Her smirk widened. "Tell little Kiku I said hello." For a moment, Alfred worried his eyes had widened, revealing the surprise he felt within.

"I didn't take you as the smart-lovin' type. Who knew you preferred scientists over superstars?" He was actually very curious as to what this woman could have to do with Honda Kiku, covering it up with a witty remark.

She rolled her brown, almost black, eyes. "Oh, don't get your panties jumbled. Can't two friends just share a simple message?"

If Alfred could, he would give her a black-eye and just leave. As much as his insides cried out to do that one action, he kept his cool and looked the woman straight in the eye, his own blue ones hardening.

"I'm not the type to ask twice, so you might want to answer this question. None of that smart-ass bullshit, either. Who gave you the PuremGel?" His voice lowered a few octaves, showing he was completely serious about the topic and wouldn't except anything but a straight answer.

Her facade fell a little, thinking of the consequences if she didn't gave him what he wanted. After a few moments of silence, Alfred rose a brow.

"How long does it take to have that pretty little head of yours conjure up an answer, huh? If you make me wait a little longer, I might have change my interrogation tactics."

Taking this oppurtunity to stall to think of a suitable lie, she threw her trademark smirk. "Oh, Alfred. I didn't take you as the torturing type. Sadly, I'll have to pass up on the offer, you kinky little bastard."

He threw her a prize-winning grin, surprising her. That's not what she was expecting. "Oh no, of course not. That's Ivan's specialty." Her eyes widened; Ivan was a monstrous man who happened to be a sadist. He was put in charge of extracting intel if Alfred couldn't get the job done first. Everyone knew his name and shivered whenever they thought of it.

Alfred was beyond pissed. The woman wouldn't stop playing games, so he decided to hand her to someone who didn't hesitate to do whatever means it took to get her to talk.

"I am going to count to five," the American began. "Give me an _honest_ answer, or you'll have to talk to a certain Russian." The woman switched to a different tactic.

"You're bluffing. You'd never-,"

"One." He raised his eyebrow. "Two."

Her eyes widened, but she still remained stubborn. "You won't send me to that sadist."

"Three. Four. Time's running out." She thought for a quick moment.

"Five."

"ALRIGHT! Alright, I'll tell you." The guards standing nearby rose a brow at her exclamation. "I can't tell you who supplied it to me, but what I can say is that they get their next shipment by the dock of 21 Avenue. I don't know when it's coming, though." Alfred rose a brow, not believing a single word.

"Can I really believe this information is reliable?"

The woman rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I would not lie if it meant having my life handed over to that... Russian." Her brown eyes flicked with annoyance.

The blonde cracked his fingers. "Anything more, sweetheart?"

"Not that I could share, sorry love." Alfred grinned.

"That's alright, Ivan will have his fun." He stood from the chair and walked towards the exit that led out of the ghastly prison. She quickly stood from her chair too, knocking it over in the process. The two guards scurried over and grabbed her arms, restraining her movements.

"Wait!" She cried out. She struggled against the burly men. "You said you won't send me to that man!"

Alfred turned, one foot sat on the first step of a long flight of stairs. "I got to five, didn't I?" He threw one last grin before climbing, her being taken away with a horrified expression on her face.

The last thing he heard before hearing the iron door close behind him was a British accent calling his name.


End file.
